


Glad You're Here

by jeweldancer



Series: Cas and Dean [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort, Dean is insecure, Destiel - Freeform, Illness, M/M, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 08:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4600011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeweldancer/pseuds/jeweldancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean gets sick, Cas gets the chance to take care of him for a change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glad You're Here

Castiel was having a productive day. He felt great, no outside distractions, and most importantly, no interruptions from his own brain. Cas's inner voice was often his most dangerous enemy when it came to painting. But today he was in the zone, and he would keep going as long as his mind would keep quiet.

Unfortunately his phone had other ideas. He cursed as it beeped loudly, then his heart skipped a beat as he saw it was a text from Dean.

Hey Im rly sry but cant make it tonight. Im sick

Cas frowned. Dean was normally a grammatically correct texter, and this seemed a little off. He took a deep breath and pushed the "call" button. Dean picked up in two rings.

"Cas," he croaked. "You called me on the phone." 

"Well, yeah."

"You hate talking on the phone."

"I don't hate it, Dean, I have a phobia. And you sound awful. What's wrong with you?"

"I've just got a bug or something. I'll be fine. We can go out next weekend instead."

"Dean, our date is not my concern right now. Is Sam there with you?"

"No, he and Jess are on a weekend trip to visit some college friends. I'm okay though."

"You don't sound okay, you sound like shit. I'm coming over to check on you."

"NO." Dean rasped. "Do not come over here. This stuff is probably contagious and I am fine anyway."

"Tough shit. I'll be there in 30 minutes." Cas hung up as Dean tried to protest more, but went into a coughing fit instead.

Cas took another deep breath and looked up the number to a nearby deli, then called them to see if they had chicken noodle soup today. They did. Cas normally would have just driven there and peeked in the window to see the special of the day sign, then walked in to order if they had what he wanted. But he didn't have time to waste today; Dean needed him, and that made him brave. And canned soup was not good enough for Dean.

Cas quickly changed out of his paint-splattered shirt and grabbed his keys. He stopped first at a pharmacy and stood in the middle of the store, getting his bearings. He found the cold medicine aisle and grabbed three different brands, along with some immune-boosting stuff. What else would he need? Cough drops and sore throat lozenges. Gatorade, ginger ale, crackers. Cas scanned the displays quickly, dropping anything he thought Dean might need into the basket. 

Cas breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that one of the self-checkout lines was open. Self-checkouts were one of the best inventions known to man in Cas's opinion, although he had heard lots of people citing them as yet another sign that civilization was declining. They would think differently if they had social anxiety, Cas thought. Sometimes the self-check lanes at the grocery store near his apartment were the only way he could get what he needed. Otherwise he would have done without sometimes. 

Cas scanned his items and was mildly staggered to see that the total was $75.80. Well, Dean was worth every penny. He scanned his credit card, bagged his items, and was on his way. 

The stop at the deli went well; he went there frequently and the cashier was familiar with him. She was always very kind, and never got impatient if he had trouble deciding what to order. After a few trips, he had solved that problem by picking up a copy of the menu that he could look at before he entered the store; that way he wasn't put on the spot as much. The changing daily specials gave him some grief, however.

Cas found a good parking space near Dean's apartment building, and hung the plastic shopping bags from the pharmacy on his left arm. Normally he brought his own canvas bag, but he had been in such a hurry he'd forgotten it this time. The rustling plastic made him feel a little guilty. He gripped the container of chicken soup in his right hand and ascended the stairs carefully. When he reached Dean's door, he had to use his foot to knock on the door because his hands were so full.

He waited for what seemed an eternity before he heard the lock click and Dean peered out the door. "Jesus," Cas blurted. "You look like hell." Dean's face looked ashen and he was shaking slightly as he leaned on the door to support himself. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead had another coughing fit. 

"Cas," Dean said after he'd gotten ahold of himself. "I mean it, get out of here. You can leave the stuff if you want, but you're not coming in here. You'll get sick too."

"Dean. Hush." Cas replied sternly, and nudged the door open the rest of the way with his foot so that he could enter. "This is not negotiable. You are really sick." He made his way into the kitchen and stashed his bags on the counter, then turned his attention to Dean. 

"Here. You need to lie down before you fall over." He helped Dean to the couch. "Now, describe your symptoms to me."

Dean recited them hoarsely: sore throat, coughing, fever, chills, headache. He hadn't eaten anything that day because his throat hurt too much. Cas removed the thermometer from its packaging and put it in Dean's mouth. "One hundred two point four," he read. "I'll keep checking it, and if it gets any higher I'm taking you to a doctor." 

Cas selected a cold medicine by reading the symptoms treated on the back of the boxes and picking the one that fit best. He also made Dean drink some water. "You're probably getting dehydrated. The medicine should help bring your fever down, and you'll feel a lot better then." 

Cas went to the bathroom and brought back a cool damp washcloth, which he used to bathe Dean's face. Cas folded the cloth and put it on his forehead. "That feels really good," Dean whispered. 

"Do you want something for your throat?" Cas unwrapped one of the throat lozenges and held it to Dean's lips. 

"Thanks, Cas. Listen, I think I'll be okay now. You should go. You might catch this shit."

"That's an acceptable risk," Cas replied briskly. "And besides, I have a good immune system. I'll take my chances, but there's no way in hell I'm leaving you alone when you're this sick."

Dean blinked at him, then his eyelids fluttered shut. Cas pulled a chair up to the sofa and made himself comfortable. Dean managed to sleep for a little while. When he woke his eyes immediately found Cas. "You're here," Dean murmured.

"Of course I am. Where else would I be?" Cas took his temperature again--it was coming down, thanks to the medicine--and helped Dean drink some Gatorade. "How's your throat?"

"Still really sore, but feels a little better."

"Do you think you could make it to bed? I think you'd be more comfortable there."

"Will you stay with me?"

"I'm not leaving you, Dean." Cas gently helped him sit up, then supported him as he shuffled into the bedroom. It was the first time Cas had seen Dean's room, which was neat and tranquil. He settled Dean into the bed, fluffing pillows and arranging covers around him. "I'll be right back, okay? I'm getting a chair."

"No. Sit on the bed with me."

"All right. Let me bring the cough drops and something to drink in here, in case you need them." Cas kicked off his shoes, then sat on the other side of the bed and leaned back on the pillows.

"Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"Glad you're here."

"Me too."

"Didn't wanna say it, but I was scared. Felt too weird."

"You don't have to worry now. I'm here to take care of you."

"Thanks...you're awesome," Dean slurred, then drifted off.

Cas settled back on the pillows to watch Dean sleep, but he was tired too, and although he only intended to close his eyes for a moment, he went fast asleep.

When Castiel woke, Dean was lying on his side looking at him. He looked more comfortable, and his eyes were clearer. "Hey," Dean whispered.

"Hey, yourself. You look better."

"I still feel like shit, but I think I can live now."

Cas sat up and placed a hand on Dean's forehead. "Your fever is better, I think." He found the thermometer, and Dean obediently opened his mouth to let Cas take his temperature. "Yes, it's coming down. Do you think you could eat some soup?"

"I think so. What kind?"

"Chicken noodle from Nixon's Deli."

"Oh, my God. That stuff is the best. You're amazing."

Cas blushed, and rolled off the bed. "Be right back." He started heating up the soup, and fixed Dean a tray with soup, crackers, and ginger ale. He returned to the bedroom to prop Dean up with pillows, then brought in the tray.

Dean stared at the food in disbelief. "Um...is something wrong?" Cas asked nervously. He scanned the tray to see what might be offensive. Had he arranged the crackers in a weird pattern? Did normal people not drink ginger ale? Was--

"No, Cas, wait. It's just I can't remember the last time anyone's done anything so nice for me. Why are you being so nice to me?"

Castiel was perplexed. "Dean, you are honestly one of the kindest people I've ever met. And I like you a lot. Why would I not be nice to you?"

Dean wouldn't look at him. He picked at a loose thread on the comforter and shrugged. Cas put the tray on his lap and sat next to him. "I think I know, Dean. You take care of other people, but they sometimes forget to take care of you. And you think you don't deserve it. But you do, you know? When people care about each other, they take care of each other. Now eat your soup."

Dean's throat still hurt, but it felt good to have something warm in his stomach. He couldn't finish the soup, although he wanted to avoid hurting Cas's feelings by leaving some uneaten. Cas finally took the tray away. "It's okay, Dean. You don't have to eat all of it now. I'm just glad you were able to eat something."

Cas settled himself on the bed again, and noticed that Dean was staring at him. He grinned. Dean had mentioned Sam's talent for "puppy-dog eyes" getting him whatever he wanted, but it looked like the trait ran in the family. Cas reached over and pulled Dean into his arms, settling him in comfortably. He gave Dean's forehead a little kiss, and Dean sighed deeply and closed his eyes. Cas rubbed his back gently. "So good," Dean whispered. "Glad you're here."


End file.
